The implication was clear, and Lord Daniel reddened slightly.
“What do you want, Daniel?” said Beth, aware of the mounting tension between the two men, and not wanting it to go any further.
The Englishman turned his attention back to her, smiling again.
“Why, nothing, Elizabeth! What could I possibly want from you? I merely wished to say hello, and to congratulate you on your speedy work.”
“What are you talking about?” she said, genuinely puzzled.
“Well, your marriage bed is hardly warm, is it, and here you are proudly flaunting your barbarian lover around town! The least you could have done was to ensure he was decently attired. Sir Anthony will be distraught at you having taken such a filthy savage for a beau! Is he here, by the way?”
Beth’s heart lurched as she saw, a couple of hundred yards or so behind Lord Daniel, the unmistakably tall figures of Alex and Angus emerge from a side street, heading in her direction. They took maybe a dozen steps or so before veering casually away to chat with a plainly-dressed man who had been trying to attract their attention. Her heart resumed its normal pace.
“No,” she said, smiling sweetly at her former fiancé. “He is not here. But we will be returning to London soon. If you would care to call on him there, you can explain that you met me in the company of my kinsman and that your depraved mind led you to the wrong conclusion entirely.” Duncan had taken his arm from around her shoulder now, and was standing loose-limbed and relaxed. Alex and Angus appeared to be haggling good-naturedly with the man, who was obviously a trader of some sort. She had no doubt they were watching every move of what was unfolding on the esplanade.
“Kinsman!” said Lord Daniel. “Ah, of course! I beg your pardon, Elizabeth. I had forgotten that your mother was from the northern wastes. No doubt she plied her trade most successfully in this fair city before moving south. There is always a great demand for whores in every populous borough, after all. I am sure you have a great many kinsmen here.”
Duncan shifted position slightly.
“Lord Barrington,” he said politely. “I can tell by your speech and your mannerisms that you’re an Englishman, and havena been in Scotland long. I wouldna therefore expect you to have learned civilised ways as yet. Consequently I will forgive you your insulting remarks this time, but I would suggest you be on your way, immediately.”
Lord Daniel’s face flamed, his mouth twisting with rage.
“You will forgive me? Why you insolent swine!” he cried.
In the time it took for Daniel to locate the hilt of his sword with his right hand, Duncan had put Beth safely behind him and drawn his. He held it in readiness, the autumnal sunlight reflecting dully from the razor-sharp blade. People in the immediate vicinity hastily moved backwards out of danger, then formed a half-circle to watch the fun at a safe distance from the trio.
“Put it away, you ridiculous child, before he cuts you to pieces,” came a commanding voice, whose owner now approached them at speed. He had been running, and had used his elbows to force a way through the onlookers. His wig was askew, his face flushed. For a moment Beth thought the man was speaking to Duncan and her blood ran cold at the thought of what was about to ensue. Then the man’s hand closed over his son’s, ramming his half-drawn sword back into the scabbard.
“The man challenged me!” protested Daniel, struggling to free his hand from his father’s iron grip.
“That’s right, he did!” lied a man in the crowd, still hoping to see a fight. There were several murmurs, both confirming and denying this statement. The Earl of Highbury ignored them.
“No, he did not challenge you. From what I saw, you insulted him and the Lady Elizabeth, and then you drew, or rather attempted to draw, first. Am I right?”
Daniel gave up the struggle and looked away.
“Yes,” continued the earl, “I see I am. Very well then. If you persist in challenging this gentleman, I cannot stop you, but if you take even more than a cursory glance at him, you will see that you cannot possibly survive such an encounter.”
“He called me uncivilised!” said the young man peevishly.
“And so you are, if you consider provoking a gentleman without cause and drawing your sword in the presence of a lady civilised behaviour. You will apologise, sir, to both the lady and the gentleman for your outrageous behaviour. You are bringing shame on the family name, Daniel, and I will not tolerate it.” His voice was calm, but it was clear that he was very angry.
His son was equally angry, and was not about to apologise under any circumstances, that was obvious.
“I do not wish for an apology that is not freely given, my lord,” said Beth, moving back to Duncan’s side. “And I am sure my kinsman feels the same way.”
Duncan nodded. His eyes had not left Daniel’s, and he made no move to sheathe his own sword.
“Go home Daniel,” said the earl icily. “Immediately. I will deal with you later.”
The young man shot a furious glare at Beth and Duncan and turning on his heel, strode away through the laughing crowd, attempting unsuccessfully to gather the tattered remnants of his dignity around him as he went. In the distance Alex and Angus disappeared back up the street, following the enthusiastic trader. Duncan sheathed his sword. The crowd, disappointed at having been deprived of a spectacle, began to drift back into their original groupings. The earl sighed, and relaxed a little.
“My dear Lady Elizabeth, I am delighted to see you and to make the acquaintance of your kinsman, but it appears that every time we meet I am fated to apologise on behalf of my son for some outrage he has committed.”
“If he behaves in such a manner to any other Highland gentleman, my lord, you will find yourself without a son to apologise for,” observed Duncan grimly. “May I suggest with all due respect, that you teach him proper conduct, and that quickly, before someone else does?”
“You may, sir, although I have been trying unsuccessfully to do so for some time. He does, however, seem to hold a particular animosity towards yourself and your husband, Lady Elizabeth, although he has no reason to. He does not behave so rudely towards others.”
“He does not respond well to failure, my lord,” said Beth.
“No, he does not,” said the earl, looking sadly after the retreating figure of his offspring. “Although one would think he would be accustomed to it by now, if his performance at the gaming tables is anything to go by. Well,” he said, remembering himself, smiling and holding out his hand to Duncan, who accepted it and shook it. “I am sure you will not welcome my intruding any further into your day. I will take my leave of you both. Your servant, Mr MacDonald, Lady Elizabeth.”
They watched him as he walked away, his erect, immaculately tailored figure attracting the attention of more than one lady as he passed.
“I really like him,” said Beth. “Although I’ve never told him my mother was a MacDonald. I suppose Alex told him. He said they were good friends.”
“Aye, he seems a fine man. Pity his son’s such a wee gomerel. And he’s the man ye nearly married, in place of Alex? Had you lost your senses entirely, lassie?”
“Yes, probably, but there are mitigating circumstances,” Beth said. “Firstly, six months of living in the bosom of the Cunningham family would drive anyone insane. And secondly, I preferred Daniel to Sir Anthony, not Alex. There is a difference.”
Duncan could not dispute that, and the newly christened Mr MacDonald and his kinswoman were smiling again as they walked down the hill to join Alex and Angus, who had both re-emerged onto Castle Hill Street carrying a small parcel.
Beth opened the one Alex had been carrying, which was intended for her, on the way to their lodgings.
“Oh, it’s beautiful!” she said, taking out a delicately wrought silver bracelet, set with amethysts. She let him place it round her wrist, and held her hand up to admire it, putting the unpleasant scene of a few minutes ago from her mind. She looked with curiosity at Angus, who shoved his identical parcel hastily into his po
cket.
“It’s for Morag,” he said. “It’s a wee bit different to yours. I wanted to gie her something to remember me by.”
“I doubt anyone who’s been in your company for more than ten minutes would ever forget you, Angus, whether you gave them a bracelet or not,” she replied.
Angus decided to take this ambiguous statement as a compliment, the corners of his mouth curling upwards.
“It’s a sort of betrothal present, too,” he said. “Two years is an awfu’ long time to wait, when you’re fourteen.” They had agreed to marry when Morag turned sixteen, if she still wanted to at that time.
His voice made it clear that it was an awfully long time to wait when you were twenty, too.
“She’ll wait for ye, laddie, I’ve nae doubt. She promised she would, did she no’?” said Alex.
“Aye,” confirmed Angus, brightening. “And her da’s no objections, which is good.”
“And we’re bound to be back there in less than two years, anyway,” said Beth, hopefully.
“Next summer, it seems, if Charlie has his way,” said Alex. Surprisingly, he did not sound overjoyed at this thought.
“How did the meeting go?” Beth asked, brought suddenly back down to earth.
“It was interesting, but it’s no’ over yet,” said Alex. “Broughton and Lochiel are coming to our lodgings to clarify a few details.”
“I’m thinking we need to be changing our clothes as well,” Duncan said. “We’re attracting too much attention as we are.”
“Aye, you’re right,” said Alex. “And speaking of clothes, tomorrow morning I’ve an appointment wi’ my tailor.” He grimaced and looked at Beth. “And you’ve an appointment wi’ a dressmaker.”
Now it was Beth’s turn to grimace.
“I’m sorry,” said Alex sincerely. “But the holiday’s over. Sir Anthony is needed in London, as soon as possible.”
* * *
Sir Anthony Peters sat on one side of the hearth in the drawing room of his London house, resplendent in emerald green velvet breeches and frockcoat, set off by a buttercup yellow brocade waistcoat. His wig was curled and powdered, his heavy makeup expertly applied. His expression would have curdled milk.
His wife, wearing a similar expression, sat opposite him, clad in turquoise velvet, stays tightly laced, her hair swept up and secured with enamelled pins. Aquamarines sparkled in her ears and at her throat. The unhappy couple sat in silence for a time, staring moodily into the fire and thinking of the meeting in Edinburgh that had necessitated their immediate return to London without spending a week or two in Manchester on the way south as Beth had hoped they would.
They had met John Murray of Broughton at their Edinburgh lodgings, after the unfortunate episode with Lord Daniel. Dressed in brown frockcoat and breeches, he had looked quite different from the Highlander Beth remembered in Rome; smaller and slighter somehow, his fair hair hidden under a powdered wig. Donald Cameron of Lochiel, chief of Clan Cameron had turned up a few minutes later, also dressed in the sober garb of the lowlander rather than the Highland attire he preferred, although he wore his own thick light brown hair brushed ruthlessly back from his face and tied with a dark ribbon. He was a handsome man in his early forties, tall and athletically built, and his warm greeting of the MacGregors had endeared him to Beth immediately. The brandy having been poured, the men had got down to business straight away. Alex had given a brief resumé of the morning’s proceedings for Duncan and Beth’s benefit.
“John tellt us this morning that he had several meetings with Prince Charles in the Tuileries in spite of Balhaldy’s trying to prevent it, and it seems that Balhaldy has been less than honest with the prince, exaggerating the level of support he could expect from his British supporters. He was under the impression that he could expect at least twenty thousand Scots to rise for him. He had no idea that Balhaldy has been keeping us in the dark about developments.”
“I told the prince that the best he could expect from Scotland would be four thousand men if he came without a considerable body of French troops, as many of the clans have made French support a condition of them rising,” Murray continued. “I doubt the Frasers will come out otherwise, and the MacLeods will be very reluctant too.”
“MacLeod’s no’ the only one who’ll be reluctant. So will I. It canna be done without French help, it’s as simple as that,” said Lochiel firmly, his handsome face grim. “The Campbells are an enormous clan, and wi’ most of them on the government side, we need the support of the big northern clans, and we’ll no’ get it if the prince doesna have Louis’ backing.”
“What did the prince say to that?” asked Duncan.
“He said he would try to raise a body of French troops, but that he was determined to come to Scotland next summer, even if he had to come with a single footman,” said Murray. “He’s verra impatient, and frustrated at the aborted invasion. He’s been dealt badly wi’ by Louis too, which doesna help.”
Beth groaned, and the men all looked at her.
“I’ve met the prince, you remember,” she said by way of explanation. “He’ll do it, won’t he?”
“Aye, I’ve no doubt he will,” said Broughton. “Unless we can persuade him otherwise. Which is why we’re all here now.” He paused to take a sip of his brandy. “Before I left France the prince gave me a letter for the Earl of Traquair, ordering him to go immediately to England, find out the state of affairs there and get some definite commitment from the English Jacobites. Traquair has refused to go.”
“What?” said Duncan, amazed. “He’s refused a direct order from Prince Charles?”
“He didna say no outright, but he’s suddenly a verra busy man, and he did go so far as to say he was surprised the prince should think he had nothing better to do than run his errands.”
There was a general gasp from the group at the thought that anyone who claimed loyalty to the Stuart cause could say such a thing.
“I can understand him,” continued Broughton. “He’s a friend of Balhaldy’s. Balhaldy seems to want a rising at any price, and he’s so desperate to keep the prince’s favour that he’ll tell him whatever he wants to hear, true or no. If Traquair goes to England and finds out that they willna rise without a French army behind them, as I suspect he will, it puts him in an awkward position. Either he betrays his prince by lying to him and telling him the English will join him without condition, or he betrays his friend by telling Charles the truth. So he’s prevaricating.”
“That’s why Sir Anthony needs to return to London immediately,” said Alex. “So that I can do what Traquair should be doing, and try to get a definite commitment from the English.”
Beth glanced from Alex to Murray, who intercepted her look and smiled at her.
“Aye,” he said. “Alex has told me about Sir Anthony. It’s quite amazing. I never would have recognised him. I’ve revised my opinion of the baronet considerably from the last time we met. Dinna fret, Lady Elizabeth, the secret’s safe with me.”
“Dinna do it because you’re feeling guilty, though,” said Lochiel to Alex. “Although Balhaldy’s a MacGregor, he’s also my cousin, but I dinna consider myself responsible for his stupidity.”
“No more do I,” said Alex. “We were on our way back to London anyway. And if Traquair doesna consider it necessary to help his prince, I do.”
“We have to be sure of the support of the English and the French,” said Lochiel. “And if we’re not, we must, at all costs, prevent the prince from landing in Scotland next summer wi’ his single footman.”
Musing now in front of a London hearth, Beth wondered how anyone could stop the whirlwind prince from doing anything, once he had set his heart on it. She looked across at her husband, and discovered to her surprise that instead of gazing into the fire he was watching her instead. She had no idea how long she had been unknowingly observed, and coloured slightly.
“I’m awfu’ glad I’ve got you,” he said softly. “I dinna think I could have faced the pro
spect of being Sir Anthony again without you by my side.”
She looked at him, thought of what she had almost lost and shivered suddenly, realising that she could not face the prospect of anything without him by her side. It was strange that less than two years ago she had not even known of his existence, and now the thought of life without him made her feel ill. He knows what I’m thinking, she realised as she saw his eyes soften.
“I meant what I said that night,” he said.
An overwhelming desire to abandon the tedious visits and spend the day making love instead pulsed in the air, bridging the space between them. It had taken them two hours to get dressed. If they abandoned their outing now, they would never do it. Beth reluctantly swallowed back the invitation to him to tear all her clothes off and take her now, which she had been about to give voice to.
“Even though it now means you’ve got to call on my pompous boring cousin and his colourless sisters?” she said instead.
“Even if I had to call on the devil himself,” Alex smiled. The sexual tension diminished, slightly. “Come on then, let’s do it. It’ll be easier once we’ve made our first formal call. We’ll get back into the way of it then.”
He stood and held out a hand to assist her to her feet, then put his arm around her. His head bent automatically to hers.
“You’ll smudge your makeup,” Beth reminded him, a second before their lips would have met.
He said something extremely obscene in Gaelic and released her reluctantly.
Beth smoothed her dress, tried to take a deep breath and failed due to the constricting stays, swept her way to the door and came to a shuddering halt.
“Oh damn it to hell!” she said viciously, moving back a few steps then hauling her hoops up gracelessly so that she could get through the doorway. She stopped in the hall and waited for her husband to join her.
“My cousins are not expecting us, are they?” she asked.
“No, they’re just the first on a list of duty calls we’ll have to make now we’re back,” Alex said. “Geordie should really be the first, but I’ve put him off until tomorrow. At least I didna have to endure his birthday celebrations.”
The Gathering Storm (The Jacobite Chronicles Book 3) Page 21